


Even Ashes Are a Part of Your Freedom

by Iamasortofvillain



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:15:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23768323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamasortofvillain/pseuds/Iamasortofvillain
Summary: "Even Ashes Are a Part of Your Freedom" or "Weep All The Artful Tears You Like, But Don't Forget To Give Yourself Up To Darkness". (And wish you may never again be required to lift your head to the light).
Relationships: Héloïse & Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire), Héloïse/Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 30





	Even Ashes Are a Part of Your Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Love and memories are messy. So is grief. But not so much the music. Not so much the lights of the Opera House.  
> /  
> Marianne is having a momemt while listening to the orchestra, long before she sees Heloise.

In her dreams (for she dreams, very often), the thundering of the violins are always accompanied by a very distinct smell;

First. The smell of the sea. Salty and sharp and musky.

Than - It's the smell of burning candles, of melting wax.

(Of wine).

Further into her deams, and she tastes on the tip of her tongue the smell of wood, of a bonfire, of wet canvas.

Finally, It's the smell of sweat. Of soap. Of sheets (clean and sharp and strong).

She is sitting in her chair, hands clasped in her lap, her spine's very straight, for she will not let herself be made into one of those weeping ladies, who cannot control their own emotions at the sight of the crimson blinds.

(The building crescendo).

(The handsome spectators).

The orchestra plays in earnest.

The sound rightfully pulses.

Once. Twice. Three times.

And then – uninvited, almost against her own mind's will - 

Her.

Clear as ever; blonde and handsome and smiling, breathing heavily.

(Winking, like a boy).

Than (as the second violins put into play) - still her. Now with creased brow and flushed cheeks, now with wild eyes, now with her cloak as it willowes about her and her hair in whips around her face

(And oh! Marianne wants nothing more than to take her in her arms. To touch and smooth and tidy her).

(If only she could).

The memories float on. Another stroke of them strings, and the face fades away.

The sound splits. Horidly.

The row is fretfull. Almost too much to bare.

Marianne moves in her chair. Her dress presses around her. she sits with her arms about her, feeling the fabric of her own petticoat against her thigh.

She shudders. She bows her head. Once a loved fragment of music, made now to turture. She draws her breath, braces herself to what is coming.

The orchestra plays on. By it's own accord, the vast balcony vanishes and there is the ocean about her. Blue sky. Cold wind.

And just like that, at the sound of the familiar notes, instead of marble floors, there is send beneath her feet. 

Instead of the crimson blinds, the golden statues, the painted wood – there are naked walls, painted light blue.

(There are blue eyes - endless anger and sadness in them).

(There is straight nose).

(There is strong jaw - set horribly tight).

Marianne shakes. Badly. Her breath catches in her throat. She remembers at once how she went to her, how she put her head to her shoulder. She remembers all too well how she drew her face to hers, how she kissed her. 

She remembers how she said her name, that first time, on the beach. Low and scared and gentle.

(Heloise).

She remembers how, on their last day, she kissed her and made salt with her tears. And Marianne could not help but kiss her back.

The memory, vivid and alive, turnes something like horror in her breast. She falls back in her chair, sagged, clasping and unclasping her hands.

"I will sit for her" she said.

Now Marianne wish she hadn't. (she's glad she had. She's glad she had).

The music explodes. The orchestra plays on.

She begins to weep, in pain and frustration (and pain. Nothing but pain. Nothing but pain).

She weeps, and the music drowns the sound.

"You're no longer here," she had told her. blamingly and tearfully and with fire in her eyes. "You blame me for what comes next…"

Now she cannot think of anything, other than her. she is nowhere, other than with her.

The memory stings, almost to the point of sweetness. (When she focuses very hard, Marianne can almost convince herself that it was all worth it).

(It was. It was).

The music, and the memory, exhaust her. she begins to shake.

(Heloise has touched the very core of her. She kissed her and caressed her and got under her skin. Now everything is changed. If she focuses hard, she can still feel the ghost of Heloises fingers inside her. Heloise moving upon her thigh. Heloise waking, boldly meeting her gaze, smiling challengingly at her).

(The blue eyes said: I dare you to love me. Despite everything).

(She has leaped without a second thought. Now it is time to pay).

The final movment is hurried, just like the end of their hurried paradise. Hurried and dramatic and painful, as all ends ought to be.

Painful, for all their promises, memories are poor replacement.

Dramatic, for both of them knew what must come next.

(Vivaldi, it seems, grieves with them. He, too, knows what must come next).

The orchestra strikes, the violins and cellos weep. In her feverish dreams, Heloise stomps her foot, the storm is rising in her bright eyes. She is spitting words. Harsh (harsh) words, that means to cut deep.

(They do. God, how they do).

Marianne weeps harder.

As the orchestra captures the storm's thunder, the wind, the hail, the worry and realisation of two hearts infinitly breaking, all Marianne can think of is her.

Only her. Only her.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfiction. Hope you guys like it.  
> (Also, please be gentle with me. English is not my first language)


End file.
